


Bam

by bombcollar



Category: Rayman (Video Games)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27929425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombcollar/pseuds/bombcollar
Summary: Rayman finds an unlikely ally while trying to make his way through the Hoodlums' factory.
Kudos: 6





	1. the factory / the forest

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote a rayman fic, a long long time ago... this is sort of a partial rewrite, featuring a revamped version of one of the characters. my tastes have changed a lot when it comes to OCs. 
> 
> if there's interest/i have enough ideas i'll add another few chapters. i recommend reading the other rayman fic i have posted here too since it might contextualize some of the details in this!

There's one still left, its wheezy breathing and the clink of dirty glass bottles audible above the background chugging of machinery. It was cowering behind a stack of crates, back to him, hands slapped over its mouth.   
Rayman swings his fist back in preparation for a punch when the sackcloth monster whirls around and grabs him by the hoodie strings. "Wait- wait!" It gasps, and he's shocked enough to do just that. The hoodboom pulls him closer, yanking him into its hiding place. "Don't kill me."

"...huh?" In all the time he'd spent fighting these things, none of them had ever begged for its life. He blinks, tugging himself back out of its grip. It remains crouched with its hands folded in supplication. Even in the dim light, he can tell something's up with this one. Its fabric body is filthy, singed, threadbare and torn in places, and there's a glint of manic clarity in its eyes. Its toothless mouth is stretched into a simpering grin.

The hoodboom laughs, a creaky, breathless sound. "I- I can help you," it says. "You'll never find your way through this factory on your own. But I can get you out."

That's not such an unrealistic assumption. Rayman tilts his head, frowning. In the background, the machinery beats and churns through the heart of the mountain, a vast, mechanical hive, warm and hostile. Although it was built of materials found throughout the land, they've been twisted into something unfamiliar to him, humming a song in a language he no longer understands. This creature isn't so different from that. Once a lum, once part of the energy of the Glade, without thought or feeling for itself, it was now negotiating for its life. 

"I get it." It speaks again when he hesitates, shoulders hunched in a shug. "Why should you believe me, right? I'm one of those numbskulls trying to destroy the planet. But listen-" It shoves its face up to his. He smells soot and burning hair and recoils, back pressed into the metal factory wall. "Listen," its breath is hot, cloying as it hisses. "I'm _sick_ of this place and these- these _people_. I got no reason to not to let you blow it to kingdom come." 

"Woah, hey." Rayman grabs the hoodboom by the shoulders, making to push it away from him, but stops, merely gripping the fabric shell as it stares into his eyes, peering from within deep, shadowy pits, breath rattling in and out of its artificial body. Hoodlums were corrupted lums, fragments of the Heart... and was it not part of his duty to protect them too? Usually that entailed turning them back to red, freeing them from Andre's influence, but this one was directly asking him to help it, and maybe that bore listening to. 

He lets go, holding his open palms outward. "Alright, calm down. Yeah, you... you got a point there. This place is a nightmare, and you could've blown us both up already if you wanted to, I guess..."

"Exactly!" The hoodboom exclaims. "I- And I wouldn't wanna do that. We all know you don't die that easy, anyway. So? What do you say?"

"...okay." Rayman cracks a tired smile, sticking a hand out for them to shake. "Not like I can get more lost. D'you have a name or somethin'...?" Did hoodlums even get names aside from Andre? Not a single one had ever spoken to him, let alone introduced itself.

The hoodboom takes it with one dirty mitt, grinning. "Bam."

* * *

_"Bam."_

_The rifle-butt to the back of the head wasn't kind enough to knock him out, adding a layer of throbbing pain on top of the icy rain and mud seeping into his fibers, weighing his body down as the foot in his back presses him further into the sludge._

_"You are a fucking disgrace to this company."_

_"It was an accident-"_

_"Shut it." The foot slams into the back of his neck, smashing his face into the mud. "You are so. Fucking. Lucky. That you're not just some grunt." Every word is punctuated by another stomp, until he has to shove himself back up just to avoid inhaling a mouthful of mud. The foot is quick to stamp him back down. "And that Andre. Gets pissed off. When we kill screw-ups."_

_They all ought to be grateful for that rule. With how irascible hoodlums were in general, half the army would be gone by tomorrow if they were allowed to execute one another willy-nilly. Bam wrenches his head to the side, mud dribbling from his stitched mouth. "I'll fix it."_

_"It" being the entire watchtower that had fallen over due to a snapped support cable. It lay in piles of splintered boards across the partially-collapsed barrier that was supposed to stop any fleeing forest inhabitants from getting very far._

_The other hoodlum's foot finally eases off his shoulders. "Oh, you'll fix it. You'll fix it by morning. If you work through the whole night, maybe you'll get it done. Better get moving."_

_With a chuckle, he turns around, leaving Bam to pick himself up and wipe the mud from his face. Even the foliage above them does nothing to shelter him from the pouring rain. At least it washes the mud away. The others have shuffled off to their tent for the night, the lopsided fabric walls glowing warm and golden from the fire pit and lanterns within._

_Bam sighs to himself and turns to the remains of the tower. The base is still standing, enough to climb up on and see over the barrier. He situates himself at the top, making sure his footing's steady. Ever since he'd been spun into creation, it seemed like he just couldn't do anything right, and he'd never been allowed to forget that no matter how hard he tried to make up for it. Useful only as a punching bag. Fate just had other ideas for him, it seemed._  
_And if that was going to be the case, if he was always going to be a screw-up, well. He'd show them just how big of a screw-up he could be._

_He pulls the bandolier off of his shoulders and pulls the cork from one of the glass grenades. Swinging it around a few times, he hurls it so it lands with a wet **thwap** on the barrels of plum liquor next to the tents. _

_"What the hell was that?" He hears one of their muffled voices ask, seconds before the entire camp explodes. Bam cackles and whoops to himself as flaming boards and scraps of fabric rain down around him, quickly doused by the rain, though it's not enough to kill the main conflagration.  
_

_The following morning, when backup comes, he tells them it was Rayman. Limbless freak snuck up on them in the night. He's lucky even to be alive, isn't he?  
_

_Too bad, but it doesn't really matter, they say. There will always be more of us than there are of him._


	2. the furnace /  the storeroom

"So what is your, uh... plan, here." Bam glances back at Rayman. His image shimmers in the oppressive heat. "You broke into the factory so I guess you're gonna try to destroy it, huh? Blow it up or what?""Something like that."They're traveling along a narrow catwalk, hung stories above a pit of magma, broiling in the belly of the mountain. Rayman guessed they'd build the factory here in order to have access to such a huge source of steam power, melting snow to move their mechanisms. It gushed out of vents and poorly-welded pipes, threatening to scald anyone who walked past. Of course, that was only a problem for creatures with skin.

"First, though, I have to find Globox..." Rayman continues, gingerly hurrying along behind Bam. He worried that if he lingered too long, the metal would melt the rubber soles of his sneakers. It was beginning to make his head swim, sweat evaporating before it could fall. He'd weathered some hot environments, particularly flying through the sanctuary of rock and lava all those years ago, but he hadn't been stuck in there for hours, even more than a day at this point. There was no way to tell time inside the factory, no windows to the night sky or clocks, its workforce laboring nearly constantly to produce more hoodlums, more ammunition and machines. The nymphs made him sturdy, but he wasn't invulnerable. "We got separated..."

"The frog guy, right? The other one on the posters?" 

"Yeah... Why did you guys make those?"

"I dunno." Bam shrugs. "Morale booster? Target practice? Gotta have something to do while you're waiting for Rayman to come kill you."

"You're not... actually dying, right?" Rayman frowns. "The black lums inside always fly off-"

"No, no, it's uh- Figure of speech. You know." 

Rayman starts to nod then stops when the head motion causes his vision to rapidly darken. Gods, he needed to get out of here. "Are we almost to the end?"

"I think so... Been a while since I been back this way. Mostly they got me on guard duty, but I'm pretty sure it's just to keep me off the factory floor." 

Though the hazy heat it's impossible to see where the walkway ends. Bam's words seem distant, and Rayman doesn't even realize he's stopped walking until he falls forward with a clunk onto the grating. Bam whirls around, just in time to see him start to slip off the side, about to plummet into the magma below.

"No-!" Bam dives for him, managing to grab him by the torso and one of his feet, dragging his precariously-dangling limbs back from the ledge. Thank Polokus or whoever that he didn't just fall apart upon losing consciousness.   
Cursing to himself, Bam slings the passed-out Rayman over his shoulder. At least all that lack of limb meat meant the guy weighed next to nothing. And now what was he going to do? If they caught him dragging their unconscious enemy around, they'd... Well, maybe he'd be praised once in his short, miserable life, but that would be giving them all what they wanted. Not worth it.

Without Rayman, Andre would continue to expand his efforts to reach the Heart, destabilize the Glade, and where would that leave Bam? The same place he was right now, ground under the heel of whichever violent hoodlum was put in charge of him. He couldn't go back to that.

Bam hurries to the end of the catwalk, shouldering open the maintenance hatch and peering down the chute. It's dark, nothing audible on the other end. There oughta be some sort of storeroom down there, perchance some dark corner where they wouldn't be bothered. Bam adjusts how Rayman is lying against him and begins climbing down the ladder, with a little prayer to Polokus that the bolts holding the rungs hadn't rusted out yet.

* * *

"Hey. Buddy. Wake up." 

Rough fabric pats urgently at Rayman's face. When that fails to rouse him, he's doused in something lukewarm and sweet-tasting. Rayman sputters, coughing as he rolls groggily over, wiping the plum juice from his eyes. 

"Thanks for passing out on me," Bam grumbles, hucking the empty bottle past Rayman. It clatters off into some dark corner, out of sight. "If I knew that was gonna happen, I woulda picked a different route."

The sticky residue is just another layer of grime on top of the dust and soot he'd already picked up in the factory. Rayman does what he can to shake it out of his hair, then looks down at his filthy gloves, eyes adjusting to the dim room. "H...how long was I out?"

"No idea." Bam is sitting with his back against some dusty crates, but that's all Rayman can really make out in the stale green light that slips through the cracks. Could Hoodlums see in the dark? Or were they simply expecting nobody to be in here? "No reason to keep track of time, yanno. You listen for the shift-change whistle and that's all you need."

Rayman gives a little affirmative groan, sitting up. "Is there water down here?"

"We don't need to drink, so, not really. Maybe. Could be some in the pipes." He hears Bam shuffling around, getting to his feet. "We can't stick around here too long. If we can get you a hovercraft you can look for your frog a lot faster."  
When he notices Rayman isn't making any move to stand, he pauses, sucking a breath in through his stitched lips. "I told you, we can't stick around here."

"...I'm really tired." Rayman sighs, attempting to wipe his gloves off on his hood. It makes very little difference. "And being in this place just... feels bad. I feel like I've been running and fighting and traveling nonstop for days. It's... it's hard."

He can't see Bam's expression, but he does hear the soft thump of fabric as the hoodlum sits back down. "Yeah. I bet."

"And what makes it harder is that I probably could have stopped this, if I'd noticed... I'm supposed to be in tune with the Glade. I should have felt something was off, and maybe..." It was something he'd thought about endlessly since he'd set out to stop Andre, as he'd puzzled his way through the shortcut, as he'd navigated the tunnels under the Knaaren desert, as he'd climbed the endless stairs of the tower of the dead... But what could he have done, really? He didn't know how to convert the black lums back then, and clearly nobody else did either if the entire council had barely been a bump in the road. If it wasn't for Globox being in the right place at the right time...

Exhaling, he turns to his strange ally, who seems to be watching expectantly, resting his folded arms on his knees. They were both made to serve a function, Rayman thinks. His was to be a hero, to protect the world and all its inhabitants... and Bam's was to be one of many drones, soldiers to wage war on what was once their homeland. He could go somewhere with this, there was an irony there he fumbled with, but he was simply too tired to come up with anything.

Rayman grabs the corner of one of the crates, hauling himself to his feet. "You're right though. We oughta get going."


End file.
